NEBULA’S MUSIC
By AUBRIE DIONNE
LYRICAL PRESS
An imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
To Chris
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my husband, Chris; my loving parents, Joanne and Andy; my supportive siblings Brianne, Austin and Devin and their significant others James, Danielle, and Mau. My critique buddies come next: Christine Rains and Cherie Reich, and then my awesome beta reader, Michelle Moy. Lastly, I have an extraordinary editor, Stef Szymanski, who always pushed me to write clearly and effectively and has made me a better author throughout this process. Thank you, Stef.
Chapter 1
Memories
Nebula’s fingers struck the keys of the Steinway and a cascade of chords tinkled down like falling stars. Above her, the dusty, reddish-blue galaxy hovered through the window, illuminating her pale skin in mottled hues. The other crew members sat poised in the shadows, watching her performance in silent awe as the crescendo of Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto resounded throughout the hall, echoing off the glass hull of the ship. Though she lacked the emotional swells, Nebula knew the technique would be fluent and flawless.
As her finger struck a particularly poignant note, a distant memory flashed in her mind. Daises bloomed in an open field, bowing to a light wind underneath a sky of gold. Nebula closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the flighty notions. She hadn’t ever seen a sun. At least, not from the surface of a planet. Still, the farfetched images returned each and every time her fingers touched the keys, causing a black void to ache in the center of her being. She felt like she missed a vital part of her identity, as if she were made incomplete. The emptiness was one of the only emotions she’d experienced in her short existence.
The note resolved, and the idyllic scene disappeared when the angst of the chord dissipated into resonance. As always, the fragments of thought were insistent and ephemeral. They visited when her fingers brushed the keys but never lingered.
Nebula’s hands flowed off the piano and fell to her sides, and there was a surge of applause from the crowd. She gave a modest bow and walked off stage to the reception area to greet and thank the guests as they dispersed. Next time, she would program Mozart. The decision to do so was instant, almost as quick as it had taken her to download the Rachmaninoff from the circuit board of the computer mainframe.
As the first audience member approached her, warning lights flashed around the deck. The captain’s tenor voice came through the speakers. “Code six. All senior officers on the control deck.”
The crowd scattered as everyone rushed to their stations. Nebula slipped into the dressing room beside the stage. Considering the ramifications of a code six threat, she slid off her black, sequined concert gown and stepped into her United Planets in Action uniform, fastening the silver buttons with her nimble fingers. She took the elevator to the main deck and placed her cold hand on the panel to gain access to the control room. A green light blinked above and the doors parted, dissolving into the sides of the threshold like melted glass.
The control room surged with chaos. Angstrom ran between screens, collecting coordinates and inputting data. His tube-like hair stuck out at all angles and she could tell he’d come right from bed. Oso clutched three sets of headphones over his three sets of ears, listening intently to the communications tower. Captain Ritter talked in heightened whispers with his first in command, Venus, whose glowing blue face told Nebula she was afraid.
Beyond all the activity on deck, what caught Nebula’s attention was the main sight panel. A Gryphonite Warbird hovered off the front bow, firing at a small cargo freighter of unknown origin. No. Nebula focused on the side of the vessel. It was a rebel ship, further complicating matters.
“Nebula! Good, you’re here.” The captain left Venus’s side while the first in command was in mid-sentence and sprinted over. “I need the probability factors of the Gryphonite ship attacking us if we defend the rebel freighter.”
Nebula’s gaze glossed over as she accessed the inner recesses of her mind. “Sixty-five point six three percent to one with no defense of the freighter. Seventy-eight point three seven percent to one after freighter assistance.”
Captain Ritter’s bright eyes narrowed, the skin crinkling around the corners and showing the oncoming signs of middle age. “I thought so. What are the odds of the Warbird overtaking our speed?”
Nebula leveled her gaze at the construct, taking in all possible angles, the engine capacity and the probable weight. “The chance of successfully outrunning the Warbird is ninety-four point two four percent.”
The captain smiled at Nebula like she’d become his best friend. Nebula frowned, unable to interpret his rush of favoritism. All she did was calculate the odds. Captain Ritter whirled back to Venus, and Nebula understood the smile was not for her at all, but for his first in command. “Looks like you’ve won.”
Venus held her hands to her heart. “Thank the gods.”
He turned to the crew. “We’re not going to save the freighter, but we’ll save them.” He drew in a quick breath and sighed. “We’re going to phase out the people on the freighter. By the time the Gryphonites board their ship, hopefully we will all be long gone.”
Oso turned, his eyes black and intense. “But sir, they’re rebels. This will put us at odds with the Gryphonite-UPA alliance negotiations. The rebels are considered outlaws. We would be aiding terrorists.”
Venus stood by the captain. “Oso, these are people in need of help. You and I both know those savages will use the rebels as slaves. Besides, under the terms of the UPA agreement, they aren’t supposed to attack anyone.”
Oso lifted an eyebrow. “And what if the rebels attacked first?”
Nebula stepped forward. “The odds of a rebel freighter attacking a Gryphonite Warbird are one hundred ninety-nine to—”
“Enough, all of you.” The captain raised his hands to his head as if the banter was clogging his ears. “Let’s just get those people out of there and be on our way.”
Nebula analyzed the situation. Chances were the crew could evacuate the rebel freighter and jump to flight speed in enough time to evade the Gryphonite Warbird, but the captain was running a risk. Venus, as always, was the sympathetic thinker, and Oso, the logical, self preservationalist. She noted both parties’ disagreement for the log.
The captain tapped his fingers. “Angstrom, how are you doing on those coordinates?”
Angstrom’s tube hair bounced as his head whipped around. “Almost got them, sir.”
“Nebula, I need you to go to the phase chamber to greet and assess the victims.”
“Yes, Captain.” Nebula raised her hand in the formal UPA salute. As she walked back to the threshold, the captain grabbed her slender arm. In the dilation of his pupils, she saw doubt. “Log everything.”
Nebula made sure to hold his gaze. “You know I will.”
“Yes, yes.” He spoke mostly to himself and turned back to his crew. “Oso, prepare for optimum flight speed. Let’s hightail it outta here.”
Nebula did not wait to hear his reply. The glass doors closed behind her in a whisper of wind. She rushed through the corridors to the phase chamber. A new mission loomed, and missions always brought her pleasure, if one could call it that. They gave her a sense of accomplishment and filled the void, the dark place where the impossible memories liked to hide.
* * * *
When